


Bathtime with the Aobas

by meyghasa



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-21 11:44:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2467064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meyghasa/pseuds/meyghasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Desire gets his own body and uses it to torment Midorijima and Aoba alike.  The prompt: Sly Blue and Aoba taking a bath, brushing/drying their hair, and falling asleep together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bathtime with the Aobas

Lately they had taken to bathing together. It was just efficient, really, and Aoba figured it wasn’t weird since they were, technically, the same person anyway. Different Aobas all in different places. Desire had gotten his own body, at least, whereas Restraint was trapped in Ren’s Allmate form. A beloved Allmate, sure, but he would never get to share a bath with Reason, the Aoba that they all loved. 

Aoba had already finished showering and was lounging in the bath by the time Sly slid the door open and traipsed in. His jacket was splattered with rusty splotches of blood and his knuckles were shredded. There was a line of dried blood that had made its way from the corner of Sly’s mouth to his jawline, then just beyond. 

Aoba sighed heavily. ”Again?”

"It’s none of your business."

"It is my business. Whatever you’re doing out there affects all of us.” Aoba crossed his arms over his chest and regarded his counterpart with a frustrated stare. Sly was unaffected by Aoba’s disapproval, rolling his eyes and beginning to disrobe one ruined piece of clothing at a time.

Once he was fully unclothed, he stood under the shower and began the process of cleaning himself up from whatever scuffle he had clearly gotten himself into. ”I mean it. If you won’t think of me, think of Granny.”

Sly didn’t answer and tilted his head down, using both hands to carefully wash and rinse his long blue hair. Aoba stayed quiet, trying to keep a reign on his growing temper, and stared at the glassy surface of the bathwater, ignoring the thin line of his lips pressed together and the growing crease between his furrowed eyebrows. Sly was quick and efficient about his showering, the water running red down his body as the dried blood was washed clean. With a squeak of the handle, Sly turned the water off, squeezed the excess from his hair, swung one leg at a time over the side of the bath, and sank into the water opposite Aoba. A long exhale passed through his parted lips as he relaxed into the hot water.

“So who was it this time?” Aoba asked, his voice tight.

"I told you it was none of your fucking business." Sly closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and slid each arm out over the sides of the tub. 

“And I told you—”

Sly jerked his head up, eyes snapping open. “Stop,” he growled. “You nag me like a goddamn housewife. I said it’s none of your fucking business and I’m not gonna talk about it, so shut up.”

Aoba wasn’t proud of the pout that pursed his lips or the petulant way he crossed his arms over his chest, looked off to the side, and exhaled sharply, but he couldn’t stop himself. Even with his gaze averted, he knew Sly was grinning at his reaction. Sly knew just how to press every button, every time. And Aoba knew that it would only be a moment before—

“Besides, I can think of much better ways to occupy our time, can’t you?”

Every time, Aoba told himself he would be strong. He would resist. He would be the mature adult and he would put a stop to Sly’s antics before they began. And every time, every single time, he ended up a quivering mess under Sly’s deft fingers and clever tongue. Sly took everything he wanted, and he gave as good as he got, erasing any memory of the fight he refused to talk about. 

Afterwards, as Aoba tried to pull his scattered thoughts back together and calm his shuddering breathing, Sly slid out of the tub with a swagger born of the confidence—or over-confidence, as Aoba would say—of a man who knew what he wanted and wasn’t afraid of doing what it took to get it. He glanced over his bare shoulder at the recovering Aoba, a smirk crossing his lips, and, slinging a towel around his hips, strutted out of the bathroom. 

In the bedroom they shared, Sly pulled on a loose t-shirt and pajama pants and slouched on the floor with his back pressed to the bed. He fiddled with his Coil, ignoring Aoba when he came in. When the bed dipped behind him, he didn’t appear to notice, but when fingers suddenly wove themselves into his hair, he jerked sharply away. 

“What are you doing?” Sly snapped. He twisted around, bristling like an angry cat, and eyed Aoba and the brush in his hand. 

“You need to take better care of your hair,” Aoba said plaintively. He leaned forward, grabbing Sly’s shoulder, and tugged him closer, trying to twirl him around so his back was to the bed again.

“You sound like fucking Koujaku.” Sly growled in annoyance, but he barely put up a fight against turning his back to Aoba again. 

Slim fingers dipped into the mass of his blue hair, gently separating it into sections. Aoba began to brush Sly’s hair with all the care Aoba knew he needed for hair that had too much sensation in it, and if Sly melted into the touch just a little bit, leaning back just a little bit, enjoying it a little bit too much, Aoba didn’t comment. And if Aoba smiled a little dopily at the back of his counterpart’s head, rubbing his scalp and the strands of his hair with strokes that grew more and more loving, Sly didn’t comment. 

“C’mon, it’s late,” Aoba said at length, setting the brush on the side table and tugging at Sly’s arm. Sly grunted softly, but his demeanor was docile, softened by the calm brushing of his hair. Aoba shuffled to one side of the bed and Sly slid in next to him, lying on his back with one arm bent under to pillow his head. 

They started with the illusion of distance, separated by a few inches of space on the bed, but slowly Aoba scooted closer until their hips were pressed together. Sly glanced over, golden eyes shining in the darkness, and then turned his face away. With a smile, Aoba flipped over onto his side, slung an arm across Sly’s stomach, and pressed his face into Sly’s collarbone. “Good night.”

“Hmph,” was the response, and it wasn’t until Sly was convinced Aoba was asleep—which he wasn’t—that he twined their fingers together. And while neither of them would admit it, both equally loved these quiet moments of being together, just as much as they loved the fighting and the fucking and the finding places for themselves in a world that didn’t understand them.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [yanderesly](http://yanderesly.tumblr.com/) for always giving me excellent prompts and making me challenge myself!


End file.
